I'm going to have a piano tuner come today. The tuner who came for many years changed professions, but then I forgot he told me that he would no longer be minstrating to pianos, so I waited for his call to set up the next tuning, and then forgot all about it and I'm afraid it may have been a couple of years since Yamaha Snookie had any attention whatsoever. The time not only flew but dissolved in the terrifying mix that is my brain. And to complicate things further, I remember moving a ceramic head on the piano, and it broke and there have been shards of pottery in the inner workings of Snookie for some time. A kind of scrapnel of art is embedded in her most private parts, and she needs surgery. What a bad caretaker I am! I might have laughed it off with the old piano tuner, but I've never met this guy before, and let's face it, I am not going to make a good impression.
Oh, well, often I don't make a good impression; I ought to be used to it. I must remind myself that this person is a stranger and what do I care what he thinks. Snookie's needs come first, over my ego, but belatedly, I admit.
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